


Wrong Number

by crabbiestJellyfish



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, dave is very mentally ill and very aware of it, this is shit and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6791035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabbiestJellyfish/pseuds/crabbiestJellyfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave's new suicide hotline is Karkat Vantas, the cute Indian guy that lives a few floors down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong Number

**Author's Note:**

> this is shit and i am so sorry

My hands shook as I tried to dial the number on my touch screen phone. Why had technology moved away from buttons, dammit? They were so much easier to maneuver. Blood crept down my wrists at the same rate tears crept down my cheeks; the reopened scars on my wrists stung like hell which only made everything worse. I was supposed to be recovering, I had gotten rid of all my razors and unnecessary medications, I had been attending therapy regularly, why the fuck was this happening again?

I hit the call button and hoped that whoever would pick up this time wouldn’t be able to hear just how shaky my breath was.

As soon as the other person on the line picked up, I started. “Hi, this is Dave Strider and I know you know why I’m calling. I’m freaking the fuck out right now, couldn’t slit my wrists to bleed myself like a stuck pig, so I’m very much considering walking right off a cliff, if there were any cliffs in Houston. Maybe I could go to the roof of my apartment, god knows I spend enough time up there, maybe it would be fitting to jump off the top of such a pitiful building to end my own pitiful existence. Anyways, I’m sure you know the drill by now, I’ll give you my address so you can call someone to come over and make sure I don’t off myself and you’ll keep me talking until they arrive. I live at--”

A tired voice interrupted me. “I’m...I’m sorry, who is this? Are you okay?”

I sat there, shocked, and a little bit panicked. It was the wrong number. I just spilled my suicidal mess to a complete stranger.

I mean, I do that anyways when I call the hotline, but that’s their job. This poor guy probably had no idea what the fuck just happened.

“Uh…” I laughed weakly. “Yeah, I’m peachier than an orchard in Georgia. Congratulations, you’ve met your yearly quota for prank phone calls, there shouldn’t be any more assholes bothering you in the middle of the night--”

“Hey, whoa, seriously, are you okay? Because you sound pretty fucking not okay. What’s your address, I’m coming over.”

“I’m not giving you my address, I don’t know who you are! You could be some serial killer preying on vulnerable suicidals. Make your job easier. Like shit I’m gonna help you. Besides, like I told you, I’m fine,” though my shaking voice said otherwise.

“Look,” the voice said, much softer this time, “I just wanna help. I promise that after this you’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want. But I am not the kind of person to sit idly by when someone so obviously needs a little human company, so how ‘bout you give me your fucking address so we can move this along?”

I sighed before reluctantly giving him my address. He was right, I...did kinda need someone there. Just to make sure I didn’t undo anymore progress.

Quietly, I asked, “Can you stay on the phone with me until you get here? I don’t wanna do anything stupid.”

There was silence before, “Shit, sorry. I nodded. Yeah, I can do that. It won’t take me long to get there though, I live in the same building.”

“No shit, really? Your voice isn’t familiar. You just move?”

“Yeah, a couple of months ago. I’m getting my master’s at a college near here and this was one of the cheapest places I could find. Didn’t really wanna live on campus, y’know?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Aw shit, is that you knocking? I’ll be right there, hold on.”

I very carefully stood before basically sprinting to the door. A short, very tired looking Indian with the fluffiest black hair I’ve ever seen stood waiting when I opened the door. “Hey,” he said in greeting.

“Um,” I replied.

He walked in as if we’d known each other for years, making his way to the couch. “I brought a couple of movies. They’re my favorite kind of therapy.”

“Um,” I said, yet again, following him to the couch.

He patted the spot next to him, and I sat down without even thinking about it. “You said your name’s Dave, right?” I nodded numbly. “I’m Karkat. Karkat Vantas. You wanna watch 50 First Dates or Hitch first? Which one do you think will make you cry more?”


End file.
